Walking Dead
by Leife
Summary: I'll Bring You To Life revisited.


_Slow._

_What's wrong, Zidane?_

_Slow._

_Can't satisfy your woman?_

_Slow._

_Can't satisfy-_

_Slow._

_What's wrong, Zidane?_

_Zidane?_

* * *

The euphoric sensations swept away just as easily as they had come. Two lovers lay together, sweat rolling in beads across their skin. Her small frame quivered beneath his larger one as their bodies rubbed together creating sweet friction.

When they made love it was pure elation. He worked for the ultimate high when he knew she was so close to climax. She begged, she bit, she clawed, and she tightened. Her swollen lips pressed themselves all over his face and neck, beseeching him to give her release. Where her touch was rather gentle, yet fierce, his was rough and painfully-yet-deliciously slow. Zidane enjoyed taking his time with her. He got to know every crevice, every depression, and every curve of her body. He knew that if he brushed the back of her neck it would make her gasp. Licking her navel sent her into wild fits. He knew where her sweet spot was located, which buttons to press. Yes, he knew her well, very well indeed.

Tonight, however, was abnormal. Perhaps what doused his arousal was her lack of enthusiasm or possibly her slow reaction to his touch. All he knew was that making one more thrust into her body would prove to be the tipping point into dreaded monotony.

Without finishing, he pulled himself from her and rolled to his back. His penis throbbed and ached with the need for release, but he couldn't force himself to finish. The dark room only furthered his distaste as dark clouds began to form in his mind. Tendrils of emotion snagged at the walls of his skull and attached with them an air of uncertainty.

_What's wrong, Zidane? Can't satisfy your woman?_

The accusatory voice of his inner dialogue was deafening. It bounced all around his mind like an echo and kept repeating itself over and over.

_What's wrong, Zidane? Can't satisfy your woman?_

_Can't satisfy your woman?_

_What's wrong, Zidane? _

Zidane huffed angrily as he grit his teeth in frustration and threw his arm back with as much force as he could muster. Bare-skinned knuckles slammed into the headboard behind him, but the action failed to produce any resolve. The pain did not make him forget, it did not make him feel better, and it sure as hell didn't make him want his lover like he should.

Anger bubbled in his stomach as he tried to clear his mind. The little voice in his head was getting louder and more defiant with each passing moment. He was only slightly aware when a small, trembling hand gently cupped the side of his face. His gaze turned to the small woman who now sat with her legs pulled under the rest of her body. She was bent at the waist, her breasts dangling tantalizingly in front of him. Worry and fear marred her face. Tears gently fell down her cheeks and on to the white linen of the bed sheets.

Neither one of them said a word. Zidane only mildly acknowledged the young woman before him. Her hair was disheveled and he could barely make out reddened patches of skin where his hands had been.

"What's wrong, Zidane?"

The sound of her voice brought him only partially back to reality. He moved into a sitting position with his hands remaining at his sides, palms down. Her question mirrored his own discretion and he found it eerie and foreboding and painfully spot on. He studied her face with serious regard and he noted the worry her eyes held. He envisioned the questions that must have been swimming around in her mind. It wasn't fair to her to hold back, to not give her the explanation that she deserved, but he didn't seem to care. He must have opened and closed his mount a hundred times in the span of a minute in her anticipation of a response.

_Like a fish out of water._

"Shut the hell up…" he mumbled to the voice in his head.

Dagger's eyes shone with hurt as she carefully phrased her next question.

"What? Zidane, this isn't like you."

Zidane shook his head. Was he really having a conversation with himself?

"Nothing, sorry. I just… I don't know what I'm saying."

She moved in closer to where Zidane sat. The closer she got to him the harder her heart pounded in her chest. In all the time she had known the blonde man he had never kept himself or her from their release and he had certainly never reacted with as much anger. He took things slow because he wanted to make the sensation last as long as he could and he always let her finish first, with his own climax close behind. She wondered what had made him so detached all of a sudden.

He thought for a long while. He couldn't pin-point why he had stopped. Something about the whole act had soured his lust. Every night she would steal away into his bed, covered in nothing but a thin robe. She would smile, her long raven hair falling down her back. She would run her hands against his bare chest and pull at the waistband of his trousers, fumbling with the zipper. He in turn would yank the robe off of her naked shoulders and pull it down just below the curve of her hips. Their kissing was always passionate, always so full of emotion and want and need. Raw tendencies ushering in unstable dominance as Dagger would try to position her on top of him, but he never fancied himself for a dominatrix lover. Instead, he would grab her hips and roll her onto her back, throwing the robe to the floor as he ripped his trousers off and threw it next to her garment. He would begin kissing her inner thigh, moving up slowly.

* * *

_Slow._

_Slow._

_Slow._

* * *

He always stopped at her belly button, gently tracing his tongue along the outside edge. After a fashion, his next stop was at her breasts. He always took his time at that particular spot, tugging at her nipples, flicking them with his tongue. They were the color of honey and they tasted even sweeter against his tongue. When her body shook and her legs wrapped themselves around him tighter he would hurry to her lips and capture them with his own. She never knew when he was going to enter her so she was constantly caught up in anticipation. Sometimes he would thrust himself in right away, but other times he would kiss her for what seemed like an eternity before making his next move. He liked to keep her guessing. But when their methods became so chronic that he could guess exactly when she would moan and the magnitude of the screams, his passion began to shrivel. It was as if the light in her eyes began to dull, the beating of her heart lulled, and the passion on her fingertips brought aversion rather than excitement. She was like the walking dead.

She reached out through the thick silence and touched his shoulder gingerly. Her lover was being so quiet and so out of character that she was afraid any quick movements would solidify this new persona into perpetual existence.

"I love you, Zidane."

That was all that she could muster. The tension in her throat made it hard to get out all of the words audibly, but she still tried to weave strength and adoration into them. Her head bowed down toward the shoulder that her hand rested upon with defeat. She couldn't understand why this was happening. Hadn't she shown him enough of her? Let him see a side of Dagger that only he had the power to unearth. Emotions that once flickered like a flame were now sputtering with dire need to be rekindled.

"I love you too."

His face still showed no emotion, but his hand reached up to rest upon hers. The warmth of the contact sent shivers down her spine.

"Dagger, I can't keep going on like this. I can't keep doing the same thing every night with you. If you force me to fuck you the same way I've fucked you for the last year I'm afraid I may not be able to perform anymore."

_Can't satisfy your woman?_

_Slow._

Her bottom lip trembled as her mind mulled over his statement. He… he was bored with their sex life? Was that it?

"I… I don't know what to say, Zidane. I'm sorry that I've made you feel this way. You can take me however you want if it means you'll continue to love me."

Pain shot through his heart like a serrated knife. She felt at fault for his emotional wallowing. She was actually apologizing for something that she had no control over. The realization that his selfish lust was causing his lover pain hit him hard. Her words sparked life into his mind. The dark clouds looming over his head began to dissipate. He could think clearly now.

Without another word he was on top of the raven-haired beauty in an instant. His lips pressed against hers firmly, possessively, while his hands caressed her hips.

"I'm sorry, this isn't your fault. I'm so sorry," he breathed in between kisses. Her hands instinctively wrapped around his neck as he grabbed her hips and stood, thrusting her back against the wall nearest the bed.

Zidane stooped slightly to better position himself at her entrance. Dagger's eyes showed with delight and confusion all in one, but she helped Zidane as best she could by hooking her legs around his waist in an effort to make this up-right position more effective.

"Relax. I'm strong, I can hold you up." His voice is husky and causes butterflies to erupt into a myriad of what feels like somersaults in her stomach. She does as he commands and tries to relax her muscles. Zidane brushes her hair away from her face and stares at her for only a moment before gently planting a kiss atop her forehead.

"I love you," he whispers. The last syllable is met with a deep resonating groan from Dagger's lips as he thrusts himself into her. Dagger's back slams into the wall with each thrust as her lover delves deeper and deeper into the recesses of her womanhood. The impact of their love threatens to send photos crashing to the ground, but it is only an afterthought in his desperate attempt to rectify his previous misgivings.

Sensations of heat and fullness invade her body and cause her to splinter and fracture into a million tiny pieces before him. She is a mess with her sweat dampened skin, tangled hair, and wild eyes. The noises she emits are animalistic, primal, and continues to feed the fire set in their loins. She watches with adoration as the muscles in his arms bulge and the way his jaw line tenses whenever he catches her eyes on him.

Without warning, he turns her body toward the bed. He carefully lays her on her back. Grabbing her under her knees, he turns her with ease onto her hands and knees. Dagger looks back at him with uncertainty, but obeys the way his hands mold and shape her body into his desired position. Surprise is evident on her soft face as his hands grab at her hips. He gives her a gentle squeeze before thrusting her hips up and back toward his throbbing member. Curiosity, anticipation, and longing are all balled up into the pit of Dagger's stomach as she waits in expectation to see what her lover is about to do next.

Placing his hands on either side of her hips, he stooped once again at the knees. Before Dagger knew what was happening, the familiar splintering sensation ripped through her core. A sound escaped her even as she tried to swallow it. This new sensation was anything like she had experienced with Zidane before. Her insides further fractured as he maintained a steadily rough rhythm within her.

She moaned, she pleaded with him to go faster, she bucked her hips into him wildly. Sweat rolled in beads down his chest and onto her arched back. Her knuckles were white from her desperate grip she had on the sheets.

Her insides quivered against him with magnitude as she chanted his name like a mantra. Sweet, delicious friction gave way to mounting pleasure that sent them both over the edge into the crest of the tide. They rode it with exhilarating enchantment that ended as they crashed into each other. Without removing himself from her, he bent down and brushed his lips against the curve of her spine.

Dagger slipped away from him and crawled toward the head of the bed. She rested her hands upon her chest as she tried to slow her breathing. Her loins felt hot and swollen as her heart pounded in her chest and head. Zidane soon joined her, pulling her body against his.

"I love you," he whispered softly.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

He let her drift off into slumber, but his mind was not quite ready to sleep yet. He kept envisioning the way her back curved seductively when he was behind her. The way her hands fisted the sheets and the look on her face when she glanced back at him was something he had only fantasized about. Now, his fantasies were becoming reality, and he saw within her too that the light was back in her eyes. He had brought her to life.

With newfound resolve, he rested his head against the crook of her neck and closed his eyes. As he tried to find solace in sleep, a voice echoed in the back of his mind.

* * *

_What's wrong, Zidane?_

_What's wrong?_

_Zidane?_

* * *

"Nothing," he whispered softly against his lover's skin, so as not to wake her. With that final thought, he drifted off into blissful sleep, where the voices of the past would no longer haunt him.

* * *

So in case you're confused, this is a longer and edited version of my story _I'll Bring You To Life_ under a different title. The italicized dialogue is really just Zidane's inner monologue going on. We've all had fights with ourselves, haven't we? Haven't we? D:

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this version. I took my time with it this time and tried to give it a better ending. As always, thanks for reading!


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